


Friendly Skies

by msred



Series: Starting Over [23]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Airplanes, Celebrity Crush, Established Relationship, F/M, Fans, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Just Married, Love, Marriage, Moving In Together, POV First Person, Travel, newlyweds, teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: I had never flown with a dog before moving Millie and me to Boston, and I hadn’t been looking forward to it. In fact, Chris and I had gone back and forth over the decision, over the logistics of the whole process, actually, for almost the entire duration of our engagement. Ultimately, though, practicality and work obligations that had taken Chris to Atlanta just after our honeymoon decided for us that the three of us would share a flight from Charlotte to Boston. I should have known that Millie wasn't the one I needed to worry about drawing attention.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor) & Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor) & Reader, Chris Evans (Actor) & You, Chris Evans (Actor)/Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You
Series: Starting Over [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1423663
Comments: 95
Kudos: 90





	1. When You Tweet About a Star

**Author's Note:**

> Okay my dear, darling readers, the first chapter of this one is set up a bit differently, so I really hope it works ... the rest is all normal though, so if the first chapter isn't really your style, I hope you'll bear with me (or skip it altogether, which works but takes a bit of the fun out of it) and stick it out for the rest.
> 
> And on that note, this is one of the longest pieces in this collection, and while it is still really just a one-shot story, I've split it into six chapters. The first two chapters are being posted together (since the first chapter is unique in its set-up and construction) and after that I plan to post one chapter each Friday until it's complete.

_18 months together, 3 weeks married (July, Year 3)_

**@BostonBlonde92** Sooooo … there’s a woman boarding my flight right now with a 🐕. This could be cool, or really terrible. Like a baby x10 … Stay tuned. #airplanestruggles 

**@BostonBlonde92** Boarding now and if I’m judging these rows correctly it looks like #doglady is sitting near me. 

**@BostonBlonde92** Yep. They’re right behind me. Awesome. 🤦‍♀️

 **@BostonBlonde92** Okay, now I feel bad. They brought gifts.

  * _Image:_ Cellophane bag with gifts
  * _Image:_ Card - Good afternoon! This is Millie. It’s her first time flying, but don’t worry, we got her some Puppy Prozac, so she should be pretty relaxed. Millie is very sweet and VERY submissive, so she won’t approach you if you don’t approach her first. (Unfamiliar men and small children make her especially nervous.) Just in case you do want to get to know her a little better, we’ve provided a few of her favorite treats. One of those, and she’ll be your best friend for life. If you’re not interested, you can give the treats back or keep them for a doggo in your life. We’ve also included some human treats, to thank you for your understanding … 
    * Thank you!  
Millie  
A. & C. (Millie’s humans)


  * _Image:_ Ziploc bag of dog treats, hand sanitizer, mini bottle of vodka, full-size bag of Starburst jelly beans, puzzle book, Flair pen



**@BostonBlonde92** Poll: Do I want to give Millie treats and pet her the whole flight, or do I want to down this mini, eat a bunch of jelly beans, and watch a movie? 10 minutes to doors closed - Go!

  * Puppy pets
  * Movie time



**@BostonBlonde92** Guys. GUYS. Forget the poll. I think Chris Evans is on my plane. Yeah, THAT @ChrisEvans. Captain America. 🇺🇸🍑 He’s got a beard and a hat but I’m like 90% sure it’s him. 😲😲 I would take a picture, but I don’t want to be *that* fan. 

**@BostonBlonde92** WAIT. 🤯 ...

 **@BostonBlonde92** Confirmed. @ChrisEvans is DEFINITELY on my plane. Know how I know? Because Millie is going nuts right behind me trying to get to him and he keeps making faces at her from down the aisle. MILLIE’S C. IS CHRIS EVANS. AND HE’S GOING TO BE SITTING RIGHT BEHIND ME. 

**@BostonBlonde92** Guys. Okay. He’s still a few rows away because the line is taking like FOREVER to board but he just picked up some little kid who wanted to put his own bag in the overhead so he could reach. 😍

 **@BostonBlonde92** New question - who’s the girl? Pretty sure she’s not an actress. I’m guessing she’s A., which would make her Millie’s other human which would mean she’s not just travelling with @ChrisEvans, she’s WITH Chris Evans. 🤔🤔

 **@BostonBlonde92** OMG. Oh. My. God. The overhead on our side is full so he’s putting his backpack in the one across the aisle from me. I’m currently at eye-level with America’s Ass. I-

 **@BostonBlonde92** Yeah, they’re together.   
C: How’s my girl doin’?  
A: Which one?  
C: How are my girls doin’?  
A: We’re good. Settled in. Glad to see you made it.  
I didn’t turn around to watch, because obvi, but I’m pretty sure there was a kiss of some sort at the end there. Cheek? Forehead? Not sure.

 **@BostonBlonde92** Quick summary before they make me turn off my phone: I’m currently on a plane right in front of @ChrisEvans, his non-celebrity (I think) gf, and their dog. He’s exactly as perfect as I thought he was. Stay tuned kids, bc I’m def paying for the in-flight wifi. Back soon!! 👋🛫

 **@BostonBlonde92** Annnnnnnnd we’re back! Holy 🐂 guys! I turned my phone back on to dozens of new followers and even more RTs & comments. I’m going to try to answer as many questions as I can, but there’s one I WON’T be answering … Sorry, but I’m not telling where the flight is going. 🤷‍♀️

  * **@BostonBlonde92** I don’t wanna be a b*tch or anything, but I don’t feel comfortable sharing my or CE’s destination with the Twitterverse like that. Hope you still enjoy the LiveTweet! 
    * _Image:_ Chris Evans heart hands gif



**@BostonBlonde92** And now for the updates. Here’s what you missed: Millie keeps trying to climb up on CE and he keeps shushing her and promising to play later. He calls her “Millie Moo.” She seems to have relaxed about five minutes ago. 😍🥺 ….

  * **@BostonBlonde92** …. CE almost missed the flight because he was taking pictures with fans. Keeps apologizing, but A keeps telling him he did the right thing.


  * **@BostonBlonde92** …. He apparently left everything in the backpack he stowed overhead. He asked to share her earbuds and she gave him crap for it. Flirty crap, though. There was giggling at the end. How do I look back at them without being SUPER obvious???? 🙈


  * **@BostonBlonde92** …. And here we are. You guys are all caught up. Now back to the main thread!



**@BostonBlonde92** I’ve decided she’s a teacher. Lots of paper rustling, he asked if he could help, she said “essays,” he groaned.

 **@BostonBlonde92** He just asked again if she needs help. 🥰 She laughed and told him it was okay to go to sleep. (“Thanks babe.” 💖) I think he’s taking her up on it - he just kicked my seat a few times. It’s okay, I forgive him. 😉

 **@BostonBlonde92** Hey kids, long time no tweet! He’s been sleeping and she’s grading papers, I guess. (Still not turning around, relying only on sound here, folks.) Buuuuuut, I think things are about to get REAL interesting. Two giggly college girls just headed this way … Stay tuned!😏😏

 **@BostonBlonde92** Guys. GUYS. A. may not be a celebrity, but she’s a freaking ROCK STAR. Buckle in, I’m going to try to basically give you a transcript of what just happened. (From memory, so I may be paraphrasing.) ….

  * **@BostonBlonde92**.... As suspected, the giggly college girls (heretofore known as the #SororitySnots or SS) were headed straight for CE. They stood next to A, giggled, then cleared their throats when I guess she ignored them.


  * **@BostonBlonde92** A: Hi. Do you need something? 🤨 (MM starts to get antsy)  
SS1: Is that Chris Evans?  
A: It is.  
SS2: Oh my god. This is awesome (lots of giggling). Can we, like, take his picture? You scoot over some so you’re not in it? Pull the dog away?  
SS1: Or put it in his lap!


  * **@BostonBlonde92** … I can’t make this sh*t up, I’m serious. But this is where it gets good! 👀👀👀


  * **@BostonBlonde92** A: I’m sorry, no. 😒😒  
SS1 & SS2: 😯😯  
SS2: No?  
SS1: It’ll just take a second. It’ll be fine.  
A: Sorry, but no. 


  * **@BostonBlonde92** SS1: Why not? We won’t bother him.  
A: Right. But it’s not my place to give you permission. 🤷‍♀️ If he was awake he could make that choice, but he’s not. I’m sure you wouldn’t want someone taking pictures of you while you sleep.  
(YES GIRL YES. ✊)


  * **@BostonBlonde92** SS1 looks DEEPLY offended.  
😂  
SS2: Well, can you wake him up then?  
(A didn’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure I heard her scoff.)  
SS2: He won’t mind. He’s like, the NICEST celebrity ever.  
(😳 That’s right, this chick doesn’t know they’re TOGETHER together. 🤭)


  * **@BostonBlonde92** A: Yeah, he’s the best guy. 😎 And he’d probably be super nice about it. But you know who he is, you know he works SUPERhard. He probably doesn’t get to just turn everything off very often, right? I’m sure you don’t want to disturb him when he’s getting some rest, right? 🤨


  * **@BostonBlonde92** Yall. I CANNOT with this woman! Like, she was super nice, but something in her tone SCREAMED “Don’t f*ck with me” and I am SO here for it. 👏👏👏 The #SororitySnots left after that, but they CLEARLY weren’t happy about it.



**@BostonBlonde92** Soooooooo, now I’m torn. I really wanna turn around and tell her how awesome that was, but I don’t know if that’s annoying. So, POLL - ya got 5 minutes!! (If it matters, CE is still asleep, far as I can tell, and A keeps tapping her pen on her papers.)

  * Tell her she rocks
  * Don’t be like the snots



**@BostonBlonde92** Wow. Okay. I did NOT expect that many responses in five minutes … Well, I guess we’re doing this. I shall return, kids. 👋

 **@BostonBlonde92** Alright alright. That went on way longer than expected. 🤷‍♀️ Man, you guys are impatient. Anyway, you know the drill - (probably somewhat paraphrased) transcript from my memory:

  * **@BostonBlonde92** Me (turning around, dog treat in hand): Um, may I?  
A: Yeah, sure, she’d love that. 🙂  
(FYI, she’s got a nice smile. Not sure why, but that makes me happy. 😁)  
Me: gives MM a treat, head scratches, puppy talk


  * **@BostonBlonde92** Me: So, I hope I’m not out of line, but I really liked the way you handled those girls.  
A: Thanks. 😊  
(She really did blush, I think. I mean, I don’t really know her, so ...)  
Me: I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I promise, it’s just …  
A: No, no, tight quarters. I understand.


  * **@BostonBlonde92** Side note guys, I MAY be fangirling right now. 🤩 And not JUST over CE … Seriously. She’s super nice but NOT a pushover and her dog is super cute and I’m pretty sure she and CE are my new favorite couple. Okay, back to the transcript. 


  * **@BostonBlonde92** Me: But really though. I can’t stand up for myself like AT ALL, so that was impressive.  
A: Are you serious? I DON’T do confrontation. Look at me, I’m still shaking. 🙇‍♀️  
(She actually was. 😳)  
Me: Well, you could’ve fooled me.  
A: Was I too much of a b*tch? 😥


  * **@BostonBlonde92** Me: Seriously? OMG no. 😯 You were awesome. Super nice, but you definitely got your point across.  
A: Ugh. You promise? I felt like I was being a total b*tch.  
Me: Really. You weren’t. At all. But if you had been, they deserved it. They were TERRIBLE.  
A: Right?!?!


  * **@BostonBlonde92** And then we laughed together. It was like that whole “drunk girls in the bathroom” thing, but no one was drunk. I don’t think. Also, she’s starting to look kind of familiar, but I still can’t place her.


  * **@BostonBlonde92** And then - hold onto your hats, kids - CE woke up. 🤩🤩 …


  * **@BostonBlonde92** … He kinda waved at me (!!), asked her if everything was okay, she told him to go back to sleep (“Go back to lala land sleepy” 😢), then he pulled her hand off the armrest and - I kid you not - held (SNUGGLED) it against his chest to go back to sleep. It. Was. The. CUTEST. 🥰


  * **@BostonBlonde92** Me: (trying not to stare too obviously) ...  
A: Nope, I don’t need that at all. 😒  
(We laughed together. Again. She may be my new best friend. I want her to be my new best friend.)  
Me: Who needs two hands? 🤷‍♀️  
A: Right. Of course. 😏🙄


  * **@BostonBlonde92** Me: Okay, well, I should turn back around and leave you alone now. But hey, I don’t have any spare hands laying around, but if you need some vodka or jelly beans, I can hook you up. 😉  
(Yes. it was a TERRIBLE joke. I know.)


  * **@BostonBlonde92** A: 😄 Thanks. For everything.  
Me: 😊  
A: And just FYI, the jelly beans were his contribution. 🤭


  * **@BostonBlonde92** So there you go kids, my conversation with CE’s girlfriend. (And very brief interaction with a very sleepy CE.) Back to real time.



**@BostonBlonde92** I know, I know, it’s been a while. But I have nothing to report. I think he woke up, but they’re being really quiet, and I don’t want to eavesdrop that bad. And now I must leave you, because we are about to start our landing.


	2. You Can Fly! You Can Fly! You Can Fly!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same story, but from a different perspective ...

I had never flown with Millie before moving the two of us to Boston, and I hadn’t been looking forward to it. In fact, Chris and I had gone back and forth over the decision, over the logistics of the whole process, actually, for almost the entire duration of our engagement. For all of about five hours, we’d entertained the idea that maybe I didn’t need to move at all, that he was so busy and at home so infrequently while working that it wouldn’t  _ really  _ make a difference if I stayed in Virginia, at least during the school year. And when he wasn’t filming, he’d come be with me as often and for as long as possible, then during the summers and on all my breaks I’d go to him in Boston or L.A. (usually Boston). It had been my suggestion, actually. I knew from a long-ago interview (that had probably been my first mistake, relying on that rather than straight-up asking him what he wanted, but anyway) that while he’d wanted a wife and a family for a long time, he also wanted independence, for both himself and his wife. He wanted someone who had her own life, her own passions. And I wanted that too. I’d had a life, a full one, before I ever knew him, and while it had changed irrevocably, I also didn’t want to become just some extension of him, an additional limb to drape in pretty dresses and sparkly jewelry for events and special occasions. (Though I knew, of course, that those things would be part of it. And that was fine, I just didn’t want those things to be the  _ only  _ things. I would never feel fulfilled if I wasn’t actually  _ doing  _ something.)

So when I’d suggested it, sitting on my couch not two hours after he’d proposed, it seemed to make sense for me to keep teaching at the school I was currently at. I’d convinced myself that’s what he would want (and that he would be impressed by me suggesting it), but I was also doing it because I was scared. Not of him, or of being married to him, but because so much in my life had changed in the previous two years. I don’t know that I even consciously realized it at the time, but I was terrified that, while I loved him completely and wanted to be his wife more than anything, uprooting myself so fully would wreak havoc on my mental health. He’d agreed to my proposition, though he certainly hadn’t been ‘impressed’ the way I thought he might be. If anything, it looked as if he was valiantly fighting back disappointment, or even frustration, in order to avoid tension on the first night of our engagement. He’d told me later that the only reason he’d agreed in the first place was because he could tell I really meant it, or at least that I thought I did, when I told him I was doing it because I thought it was what he wanted, and that he planned to disabuse me of that incorrect assumption within 48 hours, at most. 

The joke had been on me all along, though, because that night I’d had my first PTSD dream about losing him the way I’d lost my first husband (I’d had the dreams before then, but always about my best friends, or one of my kids, and never when he’d been sleeping next to me - a fact that I didn’t think was coincidence) and I’d woken him up in the middle of the night crying and shaking. One of the last things I told him before I managed to fall back to sleep, only after he’d held me tight to him, running his hands gently over my hair and my arms and my back and whispering loving words for well over an hour, was that I couldn’t do it, couldn’t be his wife in Virginia while he lived in Massachusetts or California. I knew, of course, that there would be times that filming would take him away, but I could be okay with that, because at least I would be staying behind in  _ our  _ home, not actually living separately from him.

So with that option officially  _ not  _ an option, we had to start discussing the logistics - where exactly would we make our home? He had places in California and outside Boston, and while I saw the logic in keeping both houses, I wanted us to have one _ home _ , with the other being more of a contingency, a back-up to use when needed. Personally, I wasn’t incredibly keen on making L.A. my home, though I’d have done it for him if that’s what he’d really wanted. He’d had no problem with that, though, and said that he’d always envisioned Massachusetts being where he ended up anyway, so that question was an easy one to answer. He’d keep the L.A. house because he’d never fully escape having to spend time there, and of course I would go with him when it made sense to do so, but ‘home’ would be a suburb outside Boston.

When would I move? We’d decided pretty quickly, within the first couple days, that we wanted to get married at some point during the four-day span that started with his birthday and ended with mine. Conveniently, that also happened to be the week following graduation, my last contracted day of the school year. So, the timing wasn’t that much of an issue. We’d get married, take some time just for ourselves (a two-week honeymoon in Italy, where we’d spent a little time in some of the more touristy spots, done a few of the things you’re ‘supposed’ to do when honeymooning in Italy, but mostly we’d stuck to small villages Chris knew of through work or that I’d learned about through other military families, walking through town squares hand-in-hand, eating and drinking in small cafes and restaurants, exploring churches older than all of the United States), then I, and Millie, would move to New England. 

So that left only the big one,  _ how  _ would we move? I’d done cross-country moves before, but always with the United States military apparatus telling me exactly what to do and when and how to do it. The last time Chris had truly moved across the country he’d been 18 and had nothing to speak of to take with him; setting up his second house back in Massachusetts years later had been nothing compared to an actual move, since he was starting from scratch and had the means to purchase exactly what he wanted and have it all delivered to his front door. And okay, sure, that technically meant we didn’t  _ have  _ to move anything of mine at all, if we didn’t want to. But he was so respectful when he sat me down and told me we needed to do an inventory of my home - to determine what exactly I had and what I needed or wanted to keep. I think I’d made it a lot easier on him than he expected. There were my personal items, of course, mementos of friendships, my time teaching, and my first husband, obviously. None of those things were large though, and they would probably all fit in one decent-sized moving box. Then there would be another box or two for my clothes. Aside from that, the only things from my own house that I was worried about keeping were my books and several items from my kitchen that I didn’t feel like I could live without and didn’t want him to buy replacements fors. All of my furniture I’d given away or sold for cheap to other military couples and families moving into the area. 

We could maybe have packed everything into the back of my car, although my car was small and it would have been a tight fit and made for an uncomfortable ride, particularly for the spoiled rotten dog who was used to having the whole back seat to lounge across as she pleased. And that brought up the next question, or the next part of the  _ how  _ question, really. With the ‘stuff’ taken care of - we’d decided just to hire someone, an independent moving company that worked all up and down the east coast and specialized in small moves - we just had to decide how we would get Millie and me to his,  _ our _ , home outside Boston. One option was of course to just fly back into Virginia, either the both of us or just me, and drive up in my car with Millie in tow. The kink in that plan was that my car was 15 years old. It was in good shape, considering, but it wouldn’t kill me to get a new one, one that was more suited for cold-weather driving with more potential for snow and ice. So we decided against that, and my car was also sold for well below market-value (which wasn’t that much to begin with, being a 15-year-old Toyota) to a young military couple with a toddler and a car even older than my own that I didn’t feel comfortable with them driving their child around in. Another option was to have a pet courier (which I had no idea existed until that moment) transport her to Boston to be boarded while we were on our honeymoon, then fly directly there when we returned from Italy. It wasn’t a terrible idea, but I didn’t love it either, with Millie being a rescue dog who still had issues with abandonment and being left with strangers. The last option was to fly back into Virginia from Italy, get Millie from the former student who had been my go-to dog-sitter for the past couple years, and fly her with us to New England.

Before we had a chance to decide whether flying her up with us or sending her with a courier would be less stressful on her, Chris got word from his manager that there had been some things - meetings, screen tests, chemistry readings - come up related to the film he would start shooting in August. She’d made it very clear to the executives who’d sent her the updates, without going into detail, that Chris was completely, non-negotiably booked up for the entire month of June, and they’d been pretty understanding about it, but the end result was that he had to be in Atlanta for four days starting right after July 4th. It was inconvenient, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. We’d planned to be back in the States by the holiday anyway. We just changed our plans from spending the long weekend in New England with his family and friends to flying back into Virginia (which actually worked out well, once Chelsea and AJ decided to host a party at their house to both celebrate the 4th and serve as a sort of farewell party, inviting some friends and co-workers who we hadn’t invited to our very small wedding but who I did want to say goodbye to). With that settled, we decided that he’d go down to Atlanta for his obligations to the movie while I stayed with Chelsea and AJ, and when he was done there, we’d meet up in Charlotte to fly to Boston together. It was more than a little circuitous - Chris could easily have gotten a direct flight from Atlanta, a major hub, to Boston, and driving south to Charlotte would actually mean going in the opposite direction of where I ultimately wanted to end up - but we wanted to get Millie on and off as few planes as possible, and getting us a direct flight out of Charlotte would do that while also still allowing me to avoid the traffic of northern Virginia and D.C. And Chris, well, he just insisted that he wanted to be with me, with us, for the trip, even if that meant getting an unnecessary connecting flight.

So, on a hazy, humid July Saturday morning, I rented a car and packed it with my carry-on, the lone suitcase I hadn’t already sent up with the movers, and Millie’s travel crate, just in case, and Millie and I took off for Charlotte Douglas airport, where I’d return the car and we’d meet Chris to officially head to our new home. The problem - because something always seems to come up when you have plans, right? - was that Chris’s flight was delayed. It wasn’t by too much, and it shouldn’t have stopped him from making our flight to Boston, but it meant that I was on my own for the boarding process. That may not seem like a big deal, and normally it wouldn’t be, but I was travelling with a dog who, even on vet-prescribed ‘Puppy Prozac,’ was still a little bit of a nervous mess. For the first time, I regretted convincing Chris that we should be practical rather than indulgent, that having flown first class to and from Italy for our honeymoon was one thing, but that there was no need to upgrade from economy for the relatively short flight from North Carolina to Massachusetts. I still stood by the idea in theory, but at least in business class I wouldn’t have had to walk her through as much of the plane and we’d have had a little more room at our seats.

After nearly 30 minutes of agonizing inside my own head, I decided to suck it up and just face the anxiety that often came with the prospect of having to ask people, especially strangers, for help. Holding Millie’s leash tight and pulling my carry-on behind me, I approached the counter. “Um, hi, excuse me?” 

The gate agent looked up from her computer and gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Good morning. If you’re on standby, I can’t tell you anything just yet.”

“No,” I shook my head, “no, that’s not it. It’s just, and normally I wouldn’t ask for any special treatment at all, but I’m travelling with my dog,” I held up the leash and the agent pushed herself up to look over the counter, giving Millie a more sincere smile than the one she’d given me, “and my husband is travelling with us, but he’s coming in on a connecting flight from Atlanta and he’s delayed. I was just wondering if there was any possible way we could board early? I know you have a system, and I respect that, and obviously I would go after the elderly and people with disabilities and those with small children, but I think we’re quite a way back in the plane and the more people there are when we go to board, I’m just afraid she’ll get anxious.”

The woman pursed her lips at me and looked inconvenienced. “May I see your boarding pass please?”

“Yes, of course,” I pulled it from the top compartment of my carry-on and handed it over to her. 

She took the pass and put it in front of her on her keyboard, typing and watching the screen. Her eyes widened for a second at the screen before they darted up to me, then back down to the boarding pass, then back to the screen, and finally up to me again. “You say your husband will be joining you for the flight?” I nodded. “May I see your id please?” I passed my Virginia driver’s license to her.

“We, um, we just got married less than a month ago,” I ducked my head and smiled softly, my cheeks burning. “I haven’t changed my id yet because I’m moving states - right now, actually. But I, uh, I have a copy of the marriage license, for TSA and everything.” I rolled my eyes and couldn’t help but grin, “My husband got a little carried away when he bought the tickets, forgot that I don’t actually have an id with his last name on it yet.”

“Can I see that as well please?”

Something in her expression told me this went beyond standard procedure. But I really wanted to get that early boarding, and if pandering to her curiosity about a celebrity would make things a little less stressful for Millie, I was willing to do it. I just hoped it wouldn’t end up on the internet before we’d even landed. I liked to think that she wouldn’t be using her phone to Tweet - or share the news any other way - while she was on duty, or at least that there was some sort of company policy about passenger confidentiality. Finally, after studying all my documents for longer than seemed necessary, she handed them back to me and nodded. “Come on up when we call for passengers with disabilities, we’ll put you at the back of that line.”

I sighed, my shoulders sagging as that little bit of stress was lifted. “Thank you so much, really.”

“Yes ma’am. And I hope your husband’s flight makes it in time. I would hate for him to miss this one.”  _ I’m sure you would _ , I wanted to say, but she had done something nice for me and I didn’t want to rock the boat, so I only smiled and thanked her again.


	3. Someday My Prince Will Come

Once Millie and I were at our row - a two-seater next to a window so it would be just her, Chris, and me - I got settled in and dug through the tote bag I’d carried on as my ‘personal item,’ pulling out the gifts (‘bribes,’ Chris called them) I’d put together for our neighbors on the flight. I was almost positive Millie wouldn’t cause any problems, but I’d seen a few stories online of parents bringing  _ please don’t hate us  _ gifts to give to the people seated around them when travelling with young children, and it didn’t seem like a terrible idea. So, I put together goodie bags for the passengers in the rows directly in front of and behind us, as well as those in the aisle seat directly across from me and the ones in front of and behind that one, all the people who would potentially have direct access to or contact with us. (And while I’d kept the gifts generally appropriate for all ages - candy, puzzle books, some dog treats in case they wanted to interact with Millie - I’d also picked up mini-bottles of Absolut vodka from one of the airport stores, which I would put into the goodie bags of those neighbors who were legally allowed to have that sort of thing.)

The first of our neighboring passengers to board and sit was a not-quite-elderly-but-almost couple just behind us. They’d accepted the gift bags gratefully, the sweetest smiles on their faces as they pulled out their puzzle books, comparing the two and settling on one to work on together. I couldn’t help but get a little sappy thinking that, one day, that could be Chris and me (except rather than working on the puzzles together he would inevitably turn it into a challenge). Not long after that first couple got settled, what appeared to be an entire high school boy’s athletic team boarded the plane (baseball, I guessed, since it was summer, but I couldn’t be positive), filling not only the row directly across the aisle from me, but a few more rows in either direction. Well, that would certainly save me three mini-bottles. I handed out the vodka-less gift bags to the three boys closest to us and explained why I was providing them, but each boy only looked at the bag a little indifferently, shrugged, stuffed the gift into his backpack, then went back to his phone. It was pretty incredible, actually, how in sync they were. 

I could tell when the next neighboring passenger had boarded and was walking up the aisle even before she got to us. She was a young woman, younger than me but definitely old enough for the Absolut, and her eyes widened the second she saw Millie. She looked down at the boarding pass in her hand then up to the row number where she was currently standing and I could practically see her counting the rows in her head. It was clear that she was apprehensive, and I hoped it wasn’t going to be a problem for her to be seated near Millie. She looked nice enough, and she didn’t seem angry about the situation, just nervous. I couldn’t say that I blamed her for that. When she finally made it to her row, she smiled down at me cautiously, loaded her carry-on into the overhead bin above her seat, and tucked her purse against her as she sat.

I waited for a lull in the boarding traffic - soon enough there was a self-important looking man in a suit holding up traffic by trying to shove his carry-on into a compartment it clearly wasn’t going to fit into - and leaned around the seat in front of me to get the young woman’s attention. “Hi.” I moved slowly and spoke quietly so as not to startle her, and she turned halfway to look at me over her shoulder. “Umm, as you’ve probably already seen, I’m travelling with my dog,” she nodded, slowly but not unpleasantly, “and I’m sure she’s going to be fine and not bother anyone, but I also figure it can never hurt to butter people up a little bit, so …” I trailed off and handed her the goodie bag.

“Oh!” Her hand flew to her chest and she gasped a little. “That’s really not necessary.”

I just shook my head. “Please, take it.”

She reached out and gingerly took the bag from my hand. “Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. Just trying to be good neighbors.” I gave her another warm smile then sat back in my seat, holding Millie’s collar in one hand as a precaution, though nothing in history gave me reason to believe that she would do anything other than cling to me if she got nervous or spooked. Just as I got settled back into my seat, my phone vibrated in my back pocket and I shifted my weight to reach behind me and pull it out. I smiled at the notification on the lock screen; it was a text from Chris.  _ Be there soon, I promise. Just got to the gate _ . I hadn’t actually doubted that he would make it, but the text still allowed me to relax a bit, and some tension that I hadn’t known I was carrying released from my neck and shoulders. I also watched the line of boarders even more closely as I slipped the phone back into my pocket, anticipating his arrival. 

Finally, I saw him enter our section of the cabin. Well, I saw a Red Sox cap and a beard enter our section. And I’m sure many people would recognize him anyway because of his celebrity status, but I  _ knew  _ the slope of his shoulders, the way one hand came up to rest on his backpack strap as the other stayed shoved in his pocket, even his gait, though he never got to take more than a couple steps at a time. And right behind him I saw the flight attendants, coming after him and pulling the curtains that separated our cabin from the business class cabin in front of us; he was the last to board. I knew he wouldn’t like that, because of how many more eyes would potentially be on him due to boarding once the plane was mostly full, but when his head lifted, just a little, just enough to make eye contact with me, he shot me a wink and a soft smile. He was tired, I could tell, and maybe a little frustrated, but overall he looked like he was in a good mood. His mood only lifted when Millie saw him, whimpering a little and squirming in my grasp when she realized her other favorite human was so close. 

I watched him watching us, making silly faces at Millie the more she tried to get to him (and I didn’t love that he was making it more difficult for me to contain her, but I also couldn’t actually be mad about it) and looking up now and then to send me a sweet smile. I nearly groaned out loud when the line of passengers stopped moving yet again - dear god I just wanted him next to me - but then Chris took his attention off of Millie and me to focus on the conversation happening in front of him. It was between a petite - tiny, really - woman, no older than 30, but probably younger than that, and a boy of five or six who was not large for his age, but who was definitely too big for her to hold or carry. They didn’t appear to be arguing, not really, but the conversation was tense, a look of frustrated desire on the boy’s face and one of stress and exhaustion on the young woman’s. I saw Chris pull his left hand from his pocket, reaching to get her attention. Halfway there, he looked at his own hand and curled it into a fist, gently tapping her on the shoulder with the knuckle of his first finger and quickly shoving his hand back into his pocket when she turned.

I don’t know what either of them said, but I watched a smile bloom across Chris’s face as the woman talked and he looked down at the little boy; I saw her entire body language shift, stress and tension rolling away from her, when he pulled a face, squinting his eyes and wrinkling his nose, and used the hand that had been on his backpack to wave her off. He looked down at her for a second, waiting for something it seemed, and when she nodded he squatted and hooked both hands under the boy’s arms, lifting him until he was high enough to put his own small carry-on, which the young woman handed up to him, in the overhead bin. The boy beamed up at him when Chris put him back on his feet, and Chris just smiled back and patted the back of his shoulder. When he looked back at me, I was still holding onto Millie with one hand, but the other was pressed to my chest over my heart.  _ My hero _ , I mouthed at him, and he only rolled his eyes at me.

I can’t say how long it took for him to finally make it up the aisle, only one row in front of Millie and me, because I know I would only exaggerate. I just know it  _ felt  _ like forever. Eventually, though, he was stopped one row in front of us, putting his backpack into the overhead bin on the opposite side of the aisle (and really, it was almost a miracle that he managed to find a spot near our row at all, considering he was the last passenger on the plane). It was only then that I realized no one had ever joined the young woman in front of us. She must have realized, too, that no one else was boarding, because she’d already moved over to the window seat and put her purse and the goodie bag I gave her into the empty one. Well, good for her - she'd scored the air travel jackpot. And, that was one less person I had to worry about being annoyed or inconvenienced by us. 

“Finally,” Chris sighed above me, and my head snapped up to him, giddy grin on my face as he bent to scratch the top of Millie’s head and wrap his other hand around the outside of my thigh, squeezing lightly. “How’s my girl doin?” he questioned, eyes soft but with a touch of concern.

I knew he meant me; he’d never referred to Millie as ‘his.’ I knew it wasn’t because he wasn’t crazy about her (honestly, I don’t think he’d ever met a dog he didn’t adore, but he was especially phenomenal with her), but because he didn’t want me to feel like he was taking her away from me. For my part, I loved the idea of her being one more thing - one more part of our family - that was  _ ours _ . “Which one?” 

He smiled. “How are my girls doin’?”

“We’re good. Settled in,” I told him as he maneuvered his way over Millie to get to his window seat. I’d learned the very first time we’d flown together, right after we’d gotten engaged, that even though it was often hard on his long legs, he preferred the window. That was in part for the same reason I liked it - it gave him something to lean on - but also because it made it less likely that he would be noticed by other passengers. And he wasn’t being selfish about that; he knew that every time he got recognized in a busy public place, especially one with as tight quarters as an airplane cabin, it caused chaos and a disruption for everyone around him. He didn’t like doing that. So, on each of our flights to and from Italy, even though he’d argued with me over it at first, I’d insisted he take the window. His reasoning was more important than mine, I assured him, and besides, why did I need a window to lean on when I had him? By that point, he knew better than to argue with me over it on our trip to Boston. 

“Glad to see you made it,” I rested my hand on his shoulder as he settled in. 

Chris reached across his chest with his opposite hand to lift mine off his shoulder and bring it to his lips, kissing first the back of my hand, then my finger, just above the rings we were both still getting used to seeing there. He turned his right hand over on the armrest between us and brought mine down to it to link our fingers together. “Me too,” he scoffed. “Shh, Millie Moo, no, sit, silly girl,” he urged her down when she tried to climb up into his lap. “Later, puppers, we’ll play later.” He didn’t let go of my hand, but he continued to pet her with his left hand, running it over and around her head, long fingers scratching under her chin.

“Was everything okay?” I asked him once he’d gotten Millie mostly calmed down between his legs, “besides the delayed flight, I mean?”

“Yeah,” he lowered his voice as the pre-takeoff safety announcements started and the plane pushed away from the gate. “It’s just, there were people on the plane -”

“People? On a plane? Who would have guessed?” I teased, and he squeezed my hand a little roughly.

“Would you just let me talk, woman?”

“Go ahead,” I laughed.

“Anyway, they recognized me and asked for pictures, and I felt bad.” 

He looked like he felt bad then, too, looking up at me sheepishly through his eyelashes. “It’s okay,” I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles. “You made it, so no harm no foul.”

“Yeah, I guess” he shrugged, “but I’m sure it would’ve been a lot easier on you, getting Millie Moo boarded and everything, if you didn’t have to do it by yourself. I should’ve been here to help.”

I rolled my eyes. “I mean, maybe it would’ve been a little easier, but it’s really okay.” He huffed a little and guided Millie down between his calves, pressing his legs tight to her sides as the plane began to lift off.

We were quiet as the plane rose; I’m not scared of flying, and I’d done it many times, even by that point, but to this day I still tense up until the plane levels off. Chris let go of my hand, turning it palm-up on the armrest, and traced his fingers in circles and nonsense patterns over my palm and the inside of my wrist. It was just this side of tickling, but it was a perfect distraction from the anxiety I couldn’t fully pinpoint. Millie seemed aware that  _ something  _ was happening, even if she couldn’t tell exactly what, but Chris’s hand on her head and his legs pressed to her ribcage seemed to have the desired effect, because aside from turning her head side to side and looking up at us inquisitively, she was still and quiet as the plane took off. Finally we levelled off, and Chris picked our conversation back up right where we’d left off. 

“I just feel bad that I wasn’t here for you. I didn’t think it would take so long, but one picture led to another, and another. And I could’ve said no, but after the first one it was all kids, and,” he trailed off and shrugged, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

I leaned over and pressed my lips to his shoulder through his t-shirt then spoke, just loud enough for him to hear, my lips moving over the cotton. “Really, don’t be. If I’m choosing between a husband who’s always on time and one who’s kind to the people who support and admire him, I’d choose your way every time.” I kissed him again then lifted my head to rest my chin on his shoulder. I brought my voice back up to a more normal level, not because I wanted other people to hear, but because the next part wasn’t so personal, so intimate. “I’m glad you did it. I’m sure you made their days, or more.”

He came closer to me then, his nose brushing over my hair just above my ear, and spoke quietly, the way I’d done before. “I love you, my beautiful wife.”

My heart stuttered and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. God I loved the way that sounded. I was a little worried, though, that I loved it too much. I didn’t want to get too sentimental on a plane full of people. It was one thing when we were practically cocooned in first class on our way to and from Italy; we basically existed in our own bubble and could very much act the part of the newlyweds we were. That wasn’t exactly the case in the economy class cabin of our flight from Charlotte to Boston. So I dialed it back to safer, or at least less potentially attention-grabbing, territory. “For some reason?” I teased.

“For every reason,” he whispered against my hair before kissing the side of my head. I only hummed and sank down into my seat, dropping my head to his shoulder. We sat in peaceful silence, Millie finally settled and laying at our feet, for the next couple minutes until the fasten seatbelt sign went off and we were cleared to use electronic devices. 

Whereas we’d spent our honeymoon flights figuratively (and almost literally) wrapped up in each other, talking with our heads close together, watching the same movie on a single screen, stealing kisses - or just doing it blatantly, depending on how long it had been since a flight attendant had passed through - we both seemed to know without even talking about it that the flight to Boston would be different. We would need to be more ‘normal,’ blend in better. So I nuzzled my cheek against his shoulder, then I turned my head until my forehead rolled along his collarbone and pushed myself forward. I leaned down to pull my tote bag from under the seat in front of me and dug out first a stack of papers and a pen, then the wireless earbuds that would connect to my phone, still in my pocket from when Chris had texted me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chris lean forward as well, then he let his hands fall to Millie’s back, his chin dropping to his chest, and muttered a curse. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed and turned very deliberately to look up at the compartment where he’d stowed his backpack. 

“Are you serious?” I smirked at him.

“Yep. It’s all in there. All I have is my phone.” He patted his pocket as if to prove it. 

“And I guess you want me to let you up so you can get your earbuds? Maybe a book, or a script?”

“Orrr,” he drawled, drawing the word out and looking over at me with big eyes.

“Orrr,” I mimicked, raising my eyebrows at him. 

He sat back up in his seat, turning slightly toward me and lifting my hand off the stack of papers in my lap to play with my fingers. “Or you could share.”

“Share, huh?” He gave me that cute grin he still knows I love so much, even now, all these years later, the one he uses when he gets a chance to talk about something he’s really excited about. “Now why should  _ I  _ have a lopsided listening experience because  _ you  _ didn’t plan ahead well?”

“Because you don’t want me to be bored and lonely while you sit over there all closed off to the world with earbuds in both ears?” He brought our hands up - both of his and the one of mine he still held - until his elbows rested on the armrest and my hand was just in front of his mouth, his beard brushing my wrist as he spoke. “Because we can listen to the same music that way, like our own little bubble?” He used his thumbs to open up my fingers then kissed my palm.

I rolled my eyes, hard, and turned my head very purposefully away from him. He was laying it on quite thick, and I wasn’t about to miss the chance to play along. “And I suppose you’ll want to pick the music, too?” I asked, tossing the words over my shoulder.

“Of course not,” he said it as if he were doing me a favor. “We’ll listen to whatever you want.”

“How generous of you,” I cut my eyes over to him and smirked. It was fun, giving him a hard time. I loved how sweet he could be, how romantic, but I also loved that we could be like that, snarky and sarcastic and just complete smart asses, sometimes. “Fine,” I pretended to give in begrudgingly, “but only because I’m such a nice person.”

“The nicest.” He dropped my hand and slipped one of his between the armrest and my hip, pinching my side to tickle me. I squirmed and giggled, swatting at his hand and trying not to draw attention. When he stopped, I handed the earbud case to him and pulled out my phone, connecting the Bluetooth and opening my music library. I settled on a playlist I knew he’d like while he reached around me to put one of the small devices in my ear. (It didn’t work very well, and he only chuckled when it fell out almost instantly and I had to put it back in.)


	4. Let It Go

Once Chris was settled beside me, his thumb tapping my leg and his head bobbing as he stared out the window, marking out the rhythm of the song we could both hear, I tucked the phone under my thigh and turned my attention to the papers on my lap. By that point I was unemployed, having finished the school year just days before we got married. It was my last year at my school in Virginia, my last for the foreseeable future, actually, since he’d pointed out that there was no financial burden stopping me from throwing myself into service and volunteer work rather than a paying job, if that was what I wanted. I’d jumped at that opportunity, one I’d never had before. So, technically speaking, I had no more obligation to any work related to teaching. But the thing I’d always prided myself on as a teacher, far more than my lesson planning or my actual instructional ability, was the way I built relationships with my kids. I made it a point to be there for them, whether that meant mentoring them, showing up to sporting events and chorus concerts, or providing a listening ear - and occasionally a shoulder to cry on - when that’s what they needed and didn’t know where else to turn. Because of that, they were more likely to work for me in the classroom, and they trusted me both inside and outside of it. 

I’d promised the juniors I taught that last year - the only kids I felt like I was really ‘leaving behind,’ since I didn’t teach younger students and the seniors had just graduated - that even though I was leaving, I wasn’t abandoning them. Part of that meant carrying on my mentorship to help them with the college application process, the way I’d done for every group of kids before them. To that end, several wrote their first few college application or scholarship essays before the school year even ended, or within those first few weeks of summer, and sent them to me for feedback. I think they were afraid that the longer they waited, the more likely I would be to fall out of touch or get too busy to help them. (Neither would have happened, but I wasn’t complaining about getting the essays so early, before there was any huge rush or a lot of pressure to read them over and give my feedback.)

I was working at a pace of about two essays per song, reading through the relatively short personal statements and writing my comments and questions directly on the papers so I could snap pictures and send them to the kids later, and I had just shuffled the fourth essay to the bottom of the stack when Chris closed his hand around my thigh, just above my knee, and shifted in his seat so that he was leaning in toward me, careful not to disturb Millie where she’d finally laid at our feet. 

“Workin’ on something?” he asked, leaning over a little to look at the papers on my lap.

“Yeah, just trying to stay ahead of the game.” I shrugged, “It’s not like I have anything better to do right now.”

He lifted his hand off my leg and used his fingertips to turn the top paper a little more toward him so he could read it. “Anything I can do to help?”

I looked over at him then, his eyes skimming over the paper on the top of the stack until he used two fingers to return it to its original position and dropped his hand back to my leg. I’d already seen the prompt at the top of that one - applicants were asked to write about a chosen classic literary character and his or her relevance to modern society - and I knew it wasn’t actually anything personal, so I didn’t think it was a problem for him to look it over. I couldn’t help but smile at his question; he was always so considerate. I pushed myself across the armrest to place a quick kiss high on his cheek, on his temple really, and he looked up to give me a smile.

“Essays,” I sighed, shaking my head and scrunching my entire face, “just trying to give feedback.” He groaned a little then leaned in to kiss the side of my head before dropping his head to my shoulder. I brought up the hand closest to him, resting my elbow on the armrest between us and twisting my wrist to cup his jaw on the opposite side, scratching my nails lightly through his beard.

We sat that way, him slumped in his seat and leaned toward me, his temple resting on my shoulder and my left hand cupping his jaw and cheek while my right scribbled notes on the papers in front of me, for another song before he asked again if he could help somehow. I closed my eyes and shook my head, a little chuckle coming out through my nose. “You can go to sleep. It’s really okay.”

“Really?” He lifted his head to look me in the eyes, his brows furrowed, a little guilty and a little hopeful.

“Really.” 

“Thanks babe.” He kissed my hair and tightened his hand around my leg for a second, then shifted to the other side of the seat, his head falling to rest on the window and his long legs shuffling under the seat in front of him. I admired his ability to sleep pretty much anywhere. He’d said once that if he had five spare minutes, he could get four good minutes of sleep, and it was barely an exaggeration. Personally, I had learned long before then, early in my military-wife days, to make sure I had back-up entertainment with me any time I flew, because no matter how hard I tried, how long I stayed up beforehand or how much melatonin I took, I could never manage to get any real sleep. I’d fall asleep for anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour, then be awake again to resituate. Chris didn’t have that problem. Before one song had played all the way through, his head sagged on the window and his breath was deep and even. I just shook my head and kept working.

It took me about 30 minutes to get through the full stack of essays, during which Chris twitched a few times, even reached for my hand once, curling back into himself only after I squeezed his fingers in mine, but never actually woke up. I’d just finished looking over the last essay and shuffled the papers together, tapping them against the clipboard I’d been bearing down on to straighten them, when a college-aged girl made her way up the aisle past us, and I was nearly certain she recognized Chris. She came almost to a full stop right next to me and her eyes widened dramatically when her head whipped over in his direction. I didn’t move, pretending not to see her, until she’d passed us, then I looked over at him to see if he was still asleep. He was, his right hand reaching toward me a little at his side and the left tucked between his cheek and the window.

I stayed on alert until the young woman came back through, and then when she did, my eyes followed her back to her seat. It took everything I had not to groan out loud when she nearly flung herself into her seat, leaning over to the girl next to her and talking animatedly. She hadn’t even stopped talking before they were both turned, craned around the side of the first girl’s seat and looking toward Chris and me. It was no surprise when they stood and made their way toward us. I looked back down at the stack of completed papers on my lap, pretending to be engrossed in the top one so that I wouldn’t have to look up at them as they approached, hoping they would just leave.

It didn’t work. They stood there for several seconds giggling and shifting their weight between their feet, and I continued to ignore them. I wondered if they could tell that the ear closest to them was the only one with an earbud, or if maybe, hopefully, they thought I had devices in both ears and couldn’t hear them. Finally, one of the two girls cleared her throat, loudly, and I had to look up, afraid that if I didn’t she would only get louder and wake Chris. He was great about meeting and talking to fans - he’d proven that by taking so many pictures on his first flight that he came within a couple minutes of missing that one - but he also felt that he had a right to a certain level of respect, even from the people who helped make his career possible, and being woken up on a plane by complete strangers would not fulfill that right. Besides, even if it wouldn’t have bothered him (and he would have acted like it didn’t), I didn’t want him to have to deal with it. I pulled the earbud from my ear and set it on top of the papers on my lap. I didn’t want to keep streaming music into one ear for fear it would cause me to talk far too loudly, but I also didn’t want to stop the music, in case the abrupt silence would cause Chris to wake up.

“Hi,” I gave the girls a small, tight-lipped smile. “Do you need something?” Millie began to shift at Chris’s and my feet, her tag tinkling on her collar and whiny little noises escaping here and there. 

The first girl spoke quickly, almost urgently. “Is that Chris Evans?”

“It is.” I reached down and put a hand on Millie’s head when she stood and lifted her paw to nudge at my leg. “Shh, Millie, sit.” I was afraid she would go to Chris next.

The second girl grabbed her friend’s hand and began to bounce on her toes. “Oh my god. This is awesome.” They both giggled so vapidly that it took actual physical effort to not roll my eyes. “Can we, like, take his picture?” I felt my jaw drop so that I must have looked like a gaping fish. “You scoot over some so you’re not in it? Pull the dog away?”

“Oh!” The first girl spoke up again, “Or put it in his lap!” 

Please understand, I have nothing against Chris’s fans. Most of them are amazing and thoughtful and kind. And I used to be one of them - I still was, still  _ am _ , but it’s different, of course, as his wife. And of course I could imagine what it must feel like to realize you were sharing a plane with your hero or celebrity crush. A few years earlier, I would have been in the same position - the starstruck part, anyway. What I had a problem with was that they saw a sleeping man, a  _ stranger _ , on a plane, and felt that he owed them something to the point that they had no problem disturbing that sleep, that moment of peace. Or, apparently, not disturbing it, but taking pictures of him without his knowledge. I wasn’t sure which scenario was worse.

It was also clear at that point that they did not realize that Chris and I - and Millie - were together. They must have assumed that our sitting together was coincidence, two passengers flying solo who happened to get seated next to each other. On the one hand, it made things far less complicated for me. If they didn’t  _ know _ we were together, they wouldn’t ask me prying personal questions, and they couldn’t spread the word to others that we were travelling together. On top of that, what exactly was I supposed to have said if they had asked if I was his girlfriend? The last thing I wanted to do was deny being with him - being his wife - because the last thing anyone could say with any accuracy or honesty was that I was ashamed of those things. But I also didn’t want to be stuck mid-air with a plane full of passengers who had just found out we were married. No, it was definitely easier to let them think we were just strangers sharing a row on a plane. Still, there was another part of me - a bratty, probably slightly insecure part - that wanted to stake my claim a little bit when people looked at the two of us and automatically assumed we weren’t  _ together  _ together, that we’d just been thrown into each other’s paths by coincidence, or even that I was an employee of his. That nagging voice in the back of my brain wanted to look at them and say,  _ No, I absolutely will not let you, a stranger, take a picture of my husband without his knowledge while he sleeps. Because that’s creepy.  _ I wouldn’t, it would be stupid and immature and would help in no way whatsoever, but the desire was there, just a little bit.

All I said was, “I’m sorry, no.”

It seemed to take them a moment to realize what I’d actually said, because they only stood there at first, still smiling and batting their eyelashes, then, almost in unison, their faces fell. They looked at each other for a second, then the second girl, the one who had stayed seated while the first had walked up the aisle that first time, blinked back at me, “No?”

“It’ll just take a second. It’ll be fine,” the first girl asserted.

I stood my ground. “I’m sorry, but no.” Millie began once again trying to climb into my lap. She was a submissive little coward, but she was also incredibly protective, at least in her own mind, of her humans. She didn’t like the girls being there. “Millie, sit.” I used my left hand between her shoulders to gently but firmly push her back to the floor.

The first girl scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Why not? We won’t bother him.” 

“Right,” I slipped into the voice I used when students caused trouble or got out of line, that voice that said,  _ look, I’m not going to to yell at you, but you’re very wrong right now and you need to listen to me. _ “But it’s not my place to give you permission. If he was awake, he could make that choice. But he’s not.” The second girl opened her mouth to say something againI was half waiting for her to add something along the lines of me not being able to stop them, which would certainly have complicated the situation. I kept going, though, not leaving her any space to interject. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want someone taking pictures of you while you sleep.”

The original girl only stared back at me, her brows furrowed and her hands coming to her hips. I could tell she wanted to argue, but really, what good argument was there against that? Her friend picked up the ball though, running with it in a different direction. “Well, can you wake him up then?” I didn’t even know how to respond to that in a way that wouldn’t make me a complete bitch. Without actually deciding to do so, I laughed a little under my breath and shook my head, my eyes rolling so hard it almost hurt. For some reason, she kept talking. “He won’t mind, he’s like the  _ nicest  _ celebrity ever.”

At that point, I felt my heart rate speeding up (it had probably been doing it for a while and I just hadn’t noticed) and my hands starting to tremble. I’ve never been good with conflict. I could go into all the stuff that had been dug up in my therapy sessions about my childhood and unrealistic expectations being put on me and always feeling like I had to be a peace-keeper, but I won’t. Just suffice it to say that ‘non-confrontational’ is an extremely apt descriptor for me, though I had gotten a little better in the previous years. Some of that was thanks to great people in my life who encouraged me to be more assertive and stand up for myself more, rather than always giving in to others’ desires. The rest was because I’d decided early in my teaching career that standing up for my kids, or what I thought was right in educating and supporting my kids, when needed (and it was needed more often than I wish were the case) was more important to me than avoiding confrontation. That same mindset, that fierce protectiveness, had started to kick in the moment the first young woman recognized Chris on her way to the bathroom. In almost any other situation, he didn’t need my protection. It was laughable to even think about, really. The tables were almost always turned; if protection was needed, he was protecting me. But, that was probably why it was so important to me to protect him in that case. In this one instance where he actually needed me to look out for him, even if he wasn’t aware of it, I wasn’t going to let him down.

“Yeah,” I smiled and tilted my head. I wasn’t going to be rude. But I wasn’t going to give them any reason to think it was worth their time to keep arguing with me, either. “He’s the  _ best  _ guy. And he’d probably be super nice about it if I did wake him up.” I knew he would be, that wasn’t the point. I made my voice a little more sugary sweet when their eyes darted between the two of us in a way that told me they’d realized we probably weren’t sitting together by coincidence. Still, they probably thought I was some member of his team, an assistant or handler of some kind. That was okay, better for word to be spread that an employee was uncooperative with fans than that his girlfriend, or, more to the point, his  _ wife _ , was a bitch to them. No one on his team  _ was  _ uncooperative or cold, of course, they were all lovely. But these girls being angry at me and also thinking I worked for Chris shouldn't have any negative effect on the wonderful people who actually worked for and with him. If anything, they would all look better by comparison - they would be the “good” ones. 

I went on. “But, since you know who he is, you know he works  _ super  _ hard, and a lot. He probably doesn’t get to just turn everything off very often, right?” I smiled with my mouth, but my eyes were hard. Or at least I hoped they were. “I’m sure you don’t want to disturb him when he’s getting some rest, right?”

They both looked at me for a second, one wide-eyed and almost confused looking, the other with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. If looks could kill, Chris would have been a widower before we’d even been married a month. Finally, the angrier looking of the two rolled her eyes and turned away from me, motioning for her friend to return to their seats. 

I forced myself to draw in a deep, even breath through my nose, reaching to rub my hand over Millie’s head when she rested her chin on my knee. I closed my other hand around the earbud still resting on top of the papers on my thighs then closed my eyes as I brought it up and worked it into my ear. I kept my eyes closed, focusing on my breathing and trying to bring my heart rate back down. I’d hated every second of that. I hated, for his sake, that there were people who felt that they had a claim on Chris, that he owed them something - something beyond good performances in his projects, graciousness at awards shows and on talk shows, and regular appearances at conventions and other pre-planned fan encounters - simply because they watched him on a screen and followed his life (or what they thought was his life) on social media. I hated, for my own sake, the entire feeling of being confrontational and the anxiety that gripped me any time I had to actively engage in conflict. I continued to scratch between Millie’s ears with one hand, reaching for my pen with the other just to have something to keep it occupied. I found myself tapping the pen on the clipboard, and for once, I couldn’t really be bothered to care if I was annoying anyone else. 


	5. Something There

I allowed myself the length of one song to sit like that, eyes closed, deep breaths pulling in and out, leg bouncing up and down, pen tapping on papers. When the song ended, I told myself, I’d open my eyes, pack the pen and papers away, and put the whole thing behind me. When I did open my eyes to do just that, I could see movement in the row in front of me; the young woman sitting there was moving from where she’d leaned her back against the window, her legs stretched across the two seats, toward the aisle. I braced myself. I was afraid she'd heard what had just happened and was either going to try her own hand at getting to Chris or confront me about my reaction, and I wasn’t sure I could handle either. I forced myself not to scowl when she leaned around the seat right in front of me, then relaxed when I saw the dog treat in her extended hand. I pulled the earbud from my right ear once again and tucked it into my pocket. Already I was more willing to interact with her without the “safety net” of the device close at hand, ready to be tucked back into my ear at any moment, remove me from the situation.

“Umm, may I?” she asked, holding the treat forward a little bit. 

I gave her a smile - a real one, not the kind I’d been giving the two previous girls. Millie’s head lifted from my leg as she sniffed at the air, very aware of the close proximity of food. “Yeah, sure. She’d love that.” I encouraged Millie to take the treat, and when she did, the woman cupped her hands around the pup’s face, scratching both sides of her neck. She talked to her for a few seconds then sat back up, but she didn’t turn back around. In fact, she kept one hand on Millie’s neck, moving it absently over her scruff.

“So,” she started hesitantly, “I hope I’m not out of line, but I really liked the way you handled those girls.”

I felt myself blushing. “Thanks.”

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I promise, it’s just -”

I waved her off. “No no, tight quarters, I understand.”

“But really though,” she went on, dropping her eyes a little to watch her hand move through Millie’s fur. “I can’t stand up for myself like,  _ at all,  _ so that was impressive.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you serious?” I shook my head. “I  _ don’t  _ do confrontation. Look at me, I’m still shaking.” I held out my right hand between us so she could see the slight tremor that still ran through it.

She shrugged and looked at me kindly. “Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

I knew she didn’t mean it as a dig or an insult, but I couldn’t help but worry at her comment. Was she saying I’d gone too far? “Was I too much of a bitch?” I asked her, a little sheepishly.

Her eyes grew wide. “Seriously? Oh my god no! You were awesome.” I ducked my head and she nodded encouragingly. “Super nice, but you definitely got your point across.”

I groaned. “You promise? I felt like I was being a total bitch.”

“Really,” she smiled, “you weren’t. At all. But,” she lowered her head and looked up at me from under her brow, almost conspiratorially, “if you had been, they deserved it. They were  _ terrible. _ ”

“Right!” My eyes widened and my hands flew up, palms toward the ceiling. She snickered a little and before I could stop myself, I was laughing. We both leaned forward in our seats, slightly doubled over. I don’t know why, but I felt comfortable with her, at ease. Maybe it was because the conversation was relaxing, after my previous conversation with the other two girls. Maybe it was because she was so good with Millie. Or maybe we just clicked. Either way, she was nice, and I was enjoying her company, especially since she hadn’t even acknowledged Chris, who was still sleeping beside me. 

Well, he  _ had _ been sleeping, but apparently we had woken him. I didn’t realize it until I felt his hand on the back of my shoulder. When I looked over, he was sitting up in his seat, his left hand rubbing at the back of his neck before falling to tuck under his thigh. He squeezed my shoulder with the other hand then brought it to his face, rubbing at the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before seemingly realizing we had company and throwing his hand up in a wave. As he brought his hand down, he reached across me to where my hand rested on my opposite hip, arms wrapped loosely around my own waist, and closed his over it, bringing them both to the armrest between us. “Hey.” he smiled at me when I grinned at him, rubbing his thumb over the outside edge of my hand. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s good,” I nodded, and he looked over at our neighbor again and shot her a drowsy smile. I lifted my thumb over his hand, still resting on top of mine, and pressed against it, smiling at the way he blinked slowly, heavily over at us. “Go back to La-La-Land, Sleepy,” I told him. He looked at me a little unsurely and I just rolled my eyes and nodded, bumping his shoulder with mine. He smiled then, and winked, then instead of moving back to the window he shifted so that he leaned more toward me, his head falling straight back as much as the airplane seat would allow and his hand bringing mine to his chest. He tucked my arm against him and brought his left hand up from where it had fallen between his leg and the wall of the plane to wrap around my forearm, fingers tucking tightly between my arm and his chest. 

I dropped my chin to my own chest for a second. Of  _ course  _ he would do something so silly in his still groggy, sleep-addled state. When I looked back at my new … friend? neighbor? … whatever she was, she was so clearly trying not to stare. I appreciated that, and I felt bad that she seemed a little uncomfortable about inadvertently being a voyeur. “Nope,” I started, sarcastic, trying to break the tension, “I don’t need that at all.” That seemed to make her feel better, because she laughed again, and I joined her. It felt normal, the way it’s supposed to feel when you make a joke at your husband’s expense for doing something a little goofy - if your husband isn’t one of the most famous men in the world and you don’t have to watch everything you say. Maybe that was it, that’s why I enjoyed her company - she made it all feel normal.

“Who needs two hands?” She quipped.

“Right,” I scoffed. “Of course.”

She let out a long breath, maybe even a sigh, then said, “Okay, well, I should turn back around and leave you alone now.” She gave Millie one last scratch under her chin then brought her hand back to her knee. “But hey, I don’t have any spare hands laying around, but if you need some vodka or jelly beans, I can hook you up.” She flinched a little at her own joke and shook her head, so I laughed and nodded to make her feel better.

“Thanks. For everything,” I told her, and she just smiled as she started to turn back around. “And just FYI,” I added when she had her back almost completely to me; she turned to look back at me over her shoulder, “the jelly beans were his contribution.” I jerked my head toward Chris and grinned.

Once my neighbor was back in her seat, I actually kind of missed her. Talking to her had been nice.  _ She  _ had been nice. And it had helped pass the time. The thought made me wonder exactly how much time was left in our two-and-a-half hour flight. On reflex, I started to bring my left arm in front of me to look at my watch, but when I felt the pull on my hand I realized Chris was holding onto me tighter than I’d thought. I wanted to feel inconvenienced, but really, I loved it. I loved how he always held me like that in his sleep. It had taken a little getting used to at first, after so long sleeping alone, the way he almost always wrapped himself around me and pulled me close, how even when I would wiggle myself free just enough to turn in his arms so I could fall asleep the way I liked - on my other side, facing him so I could wrap my own arms around him and tuck my head under his chin - he would pull me back in the second I stopped moving, even in his sleep. It was no surprise that the hold he had on my arm meant it was inaccessible, and it would probably stay that way until he woke up or I woke him. To make up for it, I reached under my leg with my other hand to check my phone. My new friend really had helped pass the time; there were only about 30 minutes left until we landed. Soon the pilot would announce that we were starting our descent and turn the fasten seatbelt light back on, and I’d have to turn my phone off. I wanted Chris to be awake before that happened.

I squeezed his hand where it was wrapped around mine then pulled harder than I had before, working myself free from his grasp. He mostly awoke then, his hands following mine down to his lap, but I closed my hand around his knee and shook his leg to bring him the rest of the way to. He let his head loll to the side, still resting against the back of the seat.

“We landing?”

“Soon,” I told him, my voice low, and he nodded. “Hey,” my fingers drifted over his leg, drawing little circles and swirls over the top of his knee, “the girl I was talking to before?” He nodded again. “I think you should take a picture with her.” He furrowed his brows and cocked his head a little sideways. “I’ll explain more later, once we’re in the car. But she was really nice and I know she knew who you were, but she didn’t say anything about it at all. We just talked. It was kinda fun.”

He smiled softly. “You’re so cute.” He brought his hand up to curl around my neck, his thumb tracing my jaw. “But are you sure about that?” His forehead wrinkled and he kept his voice quiet, matching mine. “I’m sure she’s great, and I’d love to repay her for making you laugh like you were,” I blushed, “but I take a picture with her, and then someone else sees, and someone else, and it’s a chain reaction, just like the last flight. We may never get outta here, babe.”

I shrugged. I’d thought of that already. “We’ve still got a couple minutes before the seatbelt sign is back on. I’ll trade seats with her for a minute, she can snap a quick,  _ discreet  _ selfie, and we’ll trade back.”

He smirked. “You made a friend, huh?”

“Like I said, she was nice. She didn’t act like you owe her anything just because she’s seen your movies. The fact that she didn’t ask for anything kinda makes me want to, well,” I rolled my eyes playfully and twisted my mouth up to one side into a crooked half-grin, “makes me want  _ you  _ to do something nice for her.”

Chris laughed a little, shaking his head at me then jutting his chin forward toward the back of her seat. “Go invite her back here.” I tightened my hand around his knee and leaned over to kiss his cheek, his beard soft under my lips.

He held onto Millie as I scooted forward to the front edge of my seat and leaned around until I could see our neighbor, her back once again pressed to the wall of the plane and one foot up on the empty seat next to her, a book propped against her knee. “Hi,” I waved a little and grinned when she looked up. “So, um, I was just wondering, would you like a picture? With him?” I saw her tilt her head back to look at him from between the seat and the wall, and out of my periphery, just through the sliver of space between the two seats in her row, I saw his hand come up.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I uh,” she shook her head, “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not,” I insisted. “And I mean, if you’re not a fan, that’s fine,” the way her body language changed, her eyes widening and her spine straightening so that she sat upright, told me that was definitely not the case, “but if you are, then, just think of it as a thank you for being so nice to me before.”

“You’re … you really don’t have to do that.  _ He  _ doesn’t have to do that.” 

I nodded. “We know. But we both want to. If that’s what you want.” I truly believed that was true. First, if I had thought for a second that Chris would have had a problem with it - if I’d thought he’d had something against the idea of taking a picture on the plane, or the young woman herself, or even that he had just been in a mood that day that would make him averse to the idea - I wouldn’t have suggested it. But he’d already shown that he didn’t really have an issue taking fan pictures that day, and he hadn’t been bothered by the woman’s presence before. Besides, he spent a lot of time apologizing or trying to make up for the way his celebrity status sometimes affected or intruded on our relationship. I knew him well enough to know that he’d be happy to have a chance to use it in a way that we both saw as positive. (He used his fame in many, many ways that I saw as positive, but he still tried so hard to make sure I wasn’t inconvenienced by it; I kind of hoped that by suggesting he take a picture with her, I could show him that I understood it was sometimes a part of his job.)

“That would be really great, thank you.” I smiled and moved to stand so I could invite her to take my seat, but she reached for my arm to stop me, “But, um, do you think maybe you could be in it too? If that’s not weird, I mean. It’s just, you were really nice to me too. And ya know, you’re important too.” My breath caught in my throat for a second. Maybe she was playing me, sucking up, but I didn’t think so. She’d been too consistently nice all along. If all she’d wanted was a picture of Chris and me that she could post, there had been a million other ways she could have done it. There had been plenty of times that she could have snuck a picture of the two of us, one we didn’t get to plan and pose for, from between or around the seats. If it was all an elaborate scheme to “expose” our relationship, it was a pretty pointless one.

“Sure. That would be nice.” I waved her forward then sat back in my seat. Chris shook his head at me, but the cute little grin he wore told me he didn’t actually disapprove of what I assumed he’d just heard.

My new friend came back to the edge of the seat in front of me, where she’d sat when we’d talked a few minutes before, and turned so that she could prop herself up, facing us, with one knee in the seat. “Do you think this will work?” Her eyes darted back and forth between Chris and me. “I mean, we’ll probably draw some attention no matter what, but I figured it was probably better if I didn’t actually get up and come out into the aisle or whatever.”

I looked over at Chris and he lifted one shoulder. “Sure, works for me.”

“There you go,” I told her and she giggled.

“Okay then, I’ll just, um,” she fiddled with her phone, craning her upper body around so that she balanced her weight on the knee in the seat and leaned over the armrest toward us. As she held the phone out in front of her, moving it to find the right angle, I turned to face the camera and Chris scooted until he was barely perched on the front corner of his seat, right next to mine. He dropped his right arm across my legs, his hand curling around the outside of my thigh, and brought his left hand up to the back of the seat in front of me for balance. “Ready?” the young woman asked. We both nodded and smiled at the camera as she counted down. “3 … 2 … 1.” Right when she snapped the picture, Chris pulled a face, his mouth wide and his tongue sticking out. The woman laughed, her eyes screwed shut, and I slapped Chris’s stomach with the back of my hand. 

He brought his hand down to his stomach and doubled over like I’d actually hurt him, something I knew wasn’t remotely possible. “Sorry,” he laughed, “I had to.” She pulled the picture up for us to look at, and while it was funny, it was mostly a blurry mess. “Come on,” he said, pulling himself together and bringing his arm back up so that his forearm hooked around the headrest in front of me and his hand curled around the side of it, “let’s do another one. I’ll behave, I promise.” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and shook my head, pretending to be disappointed. He just bumped me with his shoulder and leaned over to kiss my cheek while our neighbor got her phone positioned again.

She took the second picture, and, as promised, Chris behaved. She counted down, we all smiled, and even Millie, who had stood at my feet to investigate the second Chris leaned over, was still as the young woman tapped the shutter button. Once the picture was taken, she pulled the selfie up on the screen to check it, and I think we all saw the same thing at the same time, because three sets of eyes - hers, mine, and his - all flew to Chris’s left hand, still on the side of her seat. My head whipped around to look at him, my eyes wide and containing more than a little panic. Chris unwound his arm from the seat, his hand opening and closing repeatedly and his thumb rocking his wedding band back and forth as he did.


	6. Part of Your World

“You know, um,” the young woman looking back at us with wide eyes started, her voice full of hesitation, “maybe we should take one more.” 

Chris cleared his throat and nodded. The thumb of the hand still curled around my right leg rubbed back and forth over my jeans. “It’s not a big deal,” he assured me, low and quiet. The young woman leaning in front of us may or may not have been able to hear him, I wasn’t sure, but she acted like she didn’t. I nodded and he kissed my cheek. “I was getting kind of tired of hiding you anyway,” he winked when he pulled back, and a little bit of the tension eased off my shoulders. “Alright,” he announced, “third time’s a charm, right?” His left hand had been pressed awkwardly into the back of the seat in front of us and he brought it to kind of hover over the other woman’s shoulder. “Do you mind?” he asked, eyebrows raised and soft smile in place, waiting for her permission before he dropped his hand to her shoulder.

Her eyes grew wide and she shook her head a little frantically. “No, no, go ahead.” He smiled wider and lowered his hand, his fingertips barely curling over to where they would be seen in the picture. She reached out to snap one more picture, pulling it up on the screen before any of us had moved out of our poses. “It’s good, I think.” She showed it to us - even Millie got in on the action, leaning in to sniff at the phone, making us all laugh - and I nodded my approval. Chris took his attention off Millie just long enough to look over at me with a little smile, seemingly happy to let me make the call. “Awesome,” she turned to drop the phone into the empty seat beside her then slid down into the seat she’d been kneeling in, still turned toward us as much as possible. She waited for Chris to get settled back into his own seat, petting Millie while she waited, and when I laid my left arm along his right one after it moved from being draped over my lap to laying along the armrest between us, fitting my fingers between his, her eyes honed in on my hand - or, more to the point, on the sapphire and diamond engagement ring and coordinating pave-set diamond band  _ on  _ my hand - and stayed glued there. “You know,” she started when Chris finally stopped moving, his left arm bent up, elbow on the small ledge around the window and knuckles tapping lightly on the plexiglass, his hand not tucked away like it had been the whole flight, “I’m not going to say anything. And I’m not going to post that picture.” She shook her head. “It’s none of my business. But for what it’s worth, congratulations.”

I smiled and my cheeks warmed. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

“Yeah,” Chris agreed, “thanks. A lot. For the congratulations more than the other stuff.” I nodded in agreement. “We’re not trying to keep it a secret, really,” he looked over at me, “but we don’t hate the privacy. It’ll be public soon enough, but until then, we’re enjoying this whole ‘under-the-radar’ thing, the last little bit of peace before everything goes a little bit nuts, I’m sure.” He held up the hand that had been resting on the window, palm out almost as if in surrender, “But hey, if that’s the picture you want to post, or if you want to make a full-on announcement, we’re not gonna try to stop you.”

“Although,” I added, and they both looked at me a little curiously, “if you could maybe give us time to get out of the airport first,” I raised my eyebrows and bit my lip, lifting my shoulders and kind of curling into myself just a bit, “that would be awesome.” Chris blew out a breath that sounded like a laugh and closed his eyes, shaking his head. I think, more than anything, he was surprised I would request something of her, even something so small (and, I believed, reasonable) and even in such a self-deprecating way.

Honestly, we’d expected it to already be public knowledge by that point. Back in April, just days after Chris proposed, he’d done an interview for  _ Esquire _ . And much the same way that I’d just inexplicably felt a sense of kinship with our in-flight neighbor, Chris had quickly developed a great rapport with the interviewer, leading to a feeling of trust on his part. He’d brought me in to join them and we’d talked to her together then, and he’d all but told her the exact day we were getting married. (We hadn’t completely nailed down a date yet, or he probably would have.) The story was supposed to have run in the magazine’s July issue, which had been out since just days after the wedding, but they’d managed to get an interview with Tom Hanks at the last possible moment and they wanted to publish the piece in time for Hanks’s July birthday. That meant the story on Chris would be pushed back by a month. The interviewer had called, extremely apologetic, to tell him personally that there was going to be a delay, and he’d only laughed, saying to her, “I mean hell, who can be upset about getting bumped by Tom fuckin’ Hanks?” It had been Memorial Day weekend and he was with me in Virginia and I’d looked at him like he was insane when he said it, wholly unaware of the context, but he only stuck his tongue out at me and kept talking. He’d told me later that he couldn’t have cared less one way or the other when the story ran, whatever the reason for the delay - he didn’t mind at all doing one-on-one interviews like that, but movie executives and his publicist cared far more about the actual write-ups than he did - but he was afraid he would hurt the reporter’s feelings if he said that to her. The practical result of the whole situation was that we’d been able to enjoy an extra few weeks of quiet before the inevitable storm, and I’d really preferred, if possible, to not have that storm hit while we stood in the airport.

“You’re non-secret is safe with me, I promise.” She smiled at us both. “And really, congratulations again. You guys are really cute. And while I know a lot of people will be very upset to find out that America’s Ass is officially off the market,” I laughed, and when I looked over at Chris he was blushing a little and shaking his head, “I’m personally very happy for you.” She gave us a little wave and turned back around in her seat before either of us had a chance to say anything else.

I waited until she was settled back into her seat, then leaned over to rest my chin on Chris’s shoulder. “Well,” I started, and he turned so we were practically nose-to-nose, “that went well.”

“It did,” he agreed, tilting his head up to kiss my nose. “In fact, maybe I should just stand up right now and -,” he leaned forward and acted like he was going to push himself out of his seat.

“Christopher Robert Evans,” I nearly growled, gripping the hand that had dropped to my leg in the midst of his little charade, “don’t even think about it.” He laughed, hard, as he sat back in his seat. 

As I’d thought would happen, the pilot came on the pa system not even a minute later to tell us that we were beginning our descent. Chris and I spent the last 15 minutes of our flight just talking, the way any married couple would, mostly - what we might do for dinner that night, the plans we had with his sister and her family the following weekend, and just a little bit of strategizing, that he mostly blew off, about how best to get out of the airport without him being stopped countless times for pictures and autographs.

As we - or I, really - discovered soon after, though, that last part was basically unnecessary. Either he was far better at hiding in plain sight than I would have thought, or people in Boston just really didn’t get that excited about seeing him, because we’d deboarded, crossed through almost an entire terminal to get to baggage claim, and had been standing by the carousel for five minutes without anyone even acknowledging us - aside from cooing over Millie, that is. It was a pleasant surprise. 

About the time the carousel started to turn, signifying that the bags would begin arriving soon, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I’d turned it back on as soon as the pilot announced that we were allowed to, but I hadn’t had any notifications at the time. Chris watched me pull my phone out when I had to drop his hand and take half a step aside to reach into my pocket, then when I slipped back into place at his side he dropped his arm over my shoulder and turned his attention back to the bags just starting to drop onto the conveyor. I opened the phone to a text from his brother. _Check your DMs. I’m telling you because I know your husband won’t look at his mentions._ And then, before I had a chance to close the messaging app and open Twitter, another text. _OH! And welcome to your new home Little Sis!_ _Wish I was there to welcome you in person, but I’ll be back for a visit soon and I plan to take over your house when I am so we can drive my big brother crazy together._ I couldn’t stop the grin that took over my face and I bit my bottom lip between my teeth.

I opened Twitter and went to my inbox and, sure enough, there was a message from Scott. I opened the message, and it was just a DM of someone else’s tweet with no message or context. I followed the link and read the first tweet, which only confused me; I didn’t know why Scott had sent it to me. I knew there had to  _ be _ a reason, though, because he had said something about Chris’s mentions. I saw the  _ Show this thread  _ option at the bottom of the tweet and tapped it. The next two posts didn’t do much more for me than the first one had, as far as clearing things up, but the one after that stopped me in my tracks. It was a picture of one of the goodie bags I’d made. My heart sped up and my stomach started to twist; I forced myself to drag my thumb along the screen until I came to a tweet that tagged Chris, only two posts later. My stomach went from flipping to sinking like a rock; I recognized the profile picture as our neighbor from the plane. My head actually shot up for a second, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was scanning the baggage claim area to look for her or if it was because I thought that everyone was suddenly looking at us (they weren’t, I quickly realized). What I  _ was  _ sure of was that I was terrified of where the thread was going to go. I was also sure, in that moment, that I was a complete, gullible idiot. Worst case scenarios of all the things she might have posted began to run through my mind. However, as I continued to read, I realized the posts weren’t actually bad. She stopped tagging him fairly early on, even switched to using just his initials for the most part, and in fact, the more I read, it started to get funny. And when the tweets began describing my interaction with the two girls who had wanted a picture with a sleeping Chris, I actually giggled out loud.

“What’re you laughing at, Mrs. Evans?” 

A tingle ran down my spine, a result of both the still-new title and the way his hand slipped down to pinch my hip. “Just something your brother sent.” I smiled softly and tucked the phone back into my pocket, having reached the end of the thread. I knew better than to read any of the tweets aloud while standing in the middle of baggage claim. “I’ll explain in the car.”

“That  _ and _ all about your new best friend, huh? Just how long do you think our drive is?”

I scoffed, “Two birds, one stone.”

He looked back over at me a little quizzically. “I don’t get it, but okay. Whatever you say, Dopey.” He slid his foot over next to mine, and, keeping his heel on the floor, kicked at my ankle lightly with the side of his foot. “Oh! That’s yours, right?” He pointed to my suitcase, sliding down onto the conveyor belt. 

“Oooh, yep.” I took a step toward the bag, but I didn’t make it very far because he wrapped his hand carefully but firmly around my wrist. 

“I got it.”

“Chris,” I rolled my eyes, “I can handle my own suitcase.”

“I know. You’re very good at taking care of yourself,” he slid his hand up and down my arm, his fingertips skimming the sensitive skin on the inside of my forearm. “But now we get to take care of each other. And this is my turn. Besides,” he nodded down toward my opposite hand, which held Millie’s leash, “you’ve got our girl." I didn't miss him referring to her as 'ours.' "When I walk away, she’ll probably whine a little. If you walk away, she might freak out.” He kissed the side of my head, a little abruptly, then walked off toward the bags. 

As promised, once we were out of the airport parking lot and headed toward his -  _ our  _ \- house, I explained both how Scott’s text led me down a Twitter rabbit hole and how I ended up becoming friendly with the woman sitting in front of us on the plane, all by reading her tweet thread to him. He laughed when I got to the part about the two obnoxious women who wanted to take his picture, but he also reached across the console to drop his hand to my leg.

He tightened his hand around my thigh when he asked, “You really said all that?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged, “I mean, I don’t remember if it was exactly word-for-word, but yeah, she got the gist.”

“You don’t usually stand up for yourself like that.” I looked over at him in time to catch him turning his eyes back to the road. “I’m proud of you.”

I traced his long fingers with my own. “I was standing up for  _ you _ . I’m a little bit better at standing up for people I love than I am for myself. Not great,” I shrugged, “but better.”

“Sounds to me like you were pretty great.” He turned his hand over and slipped it under mine to lace our fingers together. “And I hope you know how much I appreciate it.”

“Just trying to get an early start on this whole good wife thing,” I joked, never one to take a compliment well. I’d gotten better, but Chris handed them out so frequently that I was bound to have to deflect one now and then.

“You’re killing the game, baby.” He gave my hand two quick squeezes.

Later, after a dinner of lasagna that his mom had surprised us by bringing over and storing in the fridge before we got home, Chris and I sat on the couch with a couple beers, a Red Sox game on the tv while Dodger lay protectively on top of his stuffed lion, eyeing Millie where she lay at Chris’s and my feet. I’d been considering my next action for a while, and finally, during a commercial break, I decided to send a message to the young woman from the plane. I traded out my beer for my phone, setting the bottle on the end table to my left and rolling my eyes when Chris whined as I did so because my other hand came off his leg as I leaned away from him. I reopened the tweet Scott had sent me and tapped the little blue button to send the tweet-er a direct message.  _ Thanks for everything today, it meant a lot. You were kinder and more considerate than you had to be, and I sincerely appreciate it. I don’t know if you’re in Boston for business or pleasure or if maybe you live here, but either way I hope it goes well for you. Thanks again, and it was great to meet you! _

Two at-bats later, my beer finished off and Chris off in the kitchen getting another, my phone abandoned where I’d dropped it on the cushion next to me, an incoming direct message had it buzzing.  _ Thank YOU. Everything you said, I could say the same to you. Well, although I guess I do know that you were probably flying to Boston because you live here now. Sorry, I hope that doesn’t come across as creepy, it’s just that Chris Evans is basically synonymous with Boston.  _ I laughed under my breath.  _ It was really great to meet both of you. Congratulations again and best wishes on your marriage. _ So few people knew, no one really, who hadn’t been at the wedding, that I’d heard very little of that; it made butterflies spring to life in my stomach. 

My phone vibrated yet again before I had a chance to put it down. Again, it was from her, a direct message that linked to a new tweet she’d added to the thread.  _ Okay guys, one last post. In case anyone doubts me (yeah, I read the comments), this was after he woke up, shortly before we landed. Thought about taking a pic of the SSs - karma - but I’m not that awful. Hope you enjoyed!  _ She’d attached the last picture we’d taken together, Chris’s fingertips just barely visible on her shoulder where he sat behind her and all three of us smiling widely at the camera. Millie even managed to make it in, just a little bit, where she stretched her head up onto my lap to try to investigate what was going on.

I didn’t say anything, just held my phone up so Chris could see it as he dropped back onto the couch with his second beer. I didn’t actually hear him laugh, but I felt his chest shake a couple times as he lifted his arm to tuck me under it and kissed the top of my head once I was settled. “Cute.” I tossed the phone back aside and thought that was the end of it, until the game went to commercial and he pulled me so close I had no choice but to turn toward him a little, taking the opportunity to drape my own arm across his waist. “Hey, maybe it’s time we post some photos of our own.”

I turned to look up at him and he sat his beer on the end table, reaching across me to pull my legs across his lap. “Yeah?” I questioned. He nodded. “Wedding pictures, or -,” I drew the word out and he shook his head, leaning forward and around me to reach past me, picking up my phone and holding it out to me. I looked up at him, cutting my eyes toward him without moving my head. “Are you sure?” I was asking if he was sure he wanted to post the pictures on my phone rather than the more professional wedding photos, but I was also asking if he was sure he wanted to do it at all. 

“Am I sure that I’m ready to share you with the rest of the world? Fuck no.” I was already scrolling through my photo gallery as he talked, him watching with his cheek resting lightly against the side of my head. I stopped when I got to the day after the wedding. “Am I sure that I’m ready to show you off and stop having play this stupid ass game of hide-and-seek when we’re in public?” I clicked to open the first in a series of pictures and swiped through them slowly; he squeezed my arm with the hand still wrapped around me, holding me to him, and reached with the other to use a finger to swipe back one photo, nodding to let me know he liked that one better than the other, similar ones. “Absolutely. I don’t like pretending you’re not who you are to me.” I leaned more fully into him. 

I’d gotten to the next set of pictures from that same morning, a few in a row with almost imperceptible differences - the way my mouth was set, the exact positioning of his hand - and he did the same thing he’d done before, waiting for me to finish scrolling through them then swiping to let me know which was his favorite. “Besides,” he went on as I first sent the two chosen pictures to him then opened the Twitter app on my phone, “the  _ Esquire  _ story is going to drop,” he looked down at his watch, first squinting at the tiny date display, then jerking his head up, his eyes widening, “tomorrow. This way we can announce our own news, by a little bit at least, but we won’t be totally stepping on the toes of their story.” Because  _ of course _ he would consider how us choosing to reveal our own news would have an impact on the magazine, or, more likely, on the reporter who wrote the story. 

He continued to watch over my shoulder as I uploaded four pictures in total, typed out a short, what I hoped was cute, caption, and tapped the little blue button that would send our private business out into the world, and after watching me do so, he pulled his phone from his hip pocket, opened the text with the pictures I’d just sent him, then copied my actions, with an even briefer caption. Then he took both of our phones, double-checked that they were both on silent, and leaned forward to gently toss them onto the coffee table. He didn’t say anything as he settled back against the couch cushions, just wrapped both arms around me and pulled me against him, holding me like that for the rest of the game, moving only to take sips from his beer, offering it to me first each time he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well ... that was fun.
> 
> Seriously, this story was so much fun for me to do, and I really, really hope it was the same for you. I'd really love to hear anything you have to say about it, and, because I know I don't say it enough on here, thank you so much to everyone who read this story and thank you especially to all of you who have read multiple stories in this series or are following it as it grows. It means so, so much.
> 
> Oh, and in case anyone is curious, here's what I had in mind for the rings (the engagement ring is also described in "This is It"): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1Xw_ZYDazq4fZGOTHr0fCfdo0bwfmpdNE?usp=sharing
> 
> Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> All stories in this collection will be an anthology of connected one-shots that exist within the same universe; and the officially no longer follow chronological order. They may eventually be reorganized into novel-format, but that would be quite a way down the road.


End file.
